Middle aged men are a common breed in Carmel. After our three day stint along the California Coast, I came to notice the abundance of middle aged men. I cannot articulate the precise appeal, but for whatever reason, they have always, for lack of highbrow phrase, wet my whistle. Starting in high school with a not-so secretive crush on my English teacher to a random tryst with a substitute (we’ll save this tangent for another blog….), I’ve always had a penchant for the older and unavailable. Carrying this through high school with my soccer coach to college with my explosively hot Volcanos 101 teacher (see Dr. Osleger Fan Page on Facebook), the fad raged on throughout my college years. But alas, my preoccupation always remained but a fantasy. I couldn’t really act on my Electra complex, could I?
I don’t know if it was the media influence of The Girls Next Door or Anna Nicole Smith), but after graduating college, dating a man in his forties didn’t seem like the most ludicrous idea.
For the sake of anonymity, I will keep the identities of my senior suitors obscured with my three favorite silver foxes: Sean (as in Connery), Harrison (as in Ford), and Clint (as in Eastwood).
The first instance occurred at my internship post college with one of my senior executives, Mr. Connery. Young and influenced by my first job in the big city, I was captivated by Sean and his success in his field. He was devastatingly interesting, possessed a European accent that would make even the wriest crack a grin, and he seemed to have a particular penchant for husky voiced blondes. We connected from the moment we first met while he was keynoting at one of our regional meetings. What started as coffees and lunches turned quickly into cocktails and dinners. Never mind the fact that my middle aged suitor owned a Porsche, rocked a diamond stud in one year, and dined at only the trendiest of restaurants- I was smitten.
We kept our relationship confidential- I subconsciously sensed failure was inevitable, but the doting of a successful older man was exactly what I craved, and the secrecy of dating a work executive titillating. But my professional affair was short-lived. At the time Sean had affirmed he and his significant other were separated- I found later on his serious relationship was actually just an inconvenient truth that prevented him from genital warming. The internship ended along with the romance.
The second gent I’ve coined Harrison- the man was smoking image of Indiana Jones the first time I met him at the local Marina bar Ottomista. Also the owner of a Porsche (sensing a trend?), this gentleman was a local, and decidedly single. Harrison owned a bachelor pad in the Marina, was a successful salesman, and seemed to be Four Square’s mayor of every bar on the Chestnut Street. The fact that Harrison knew every bartender and had never been a serious relationship certainly warranted a red flag, but the to-die-for restaurants and rock-hard abs kept the dates coming. Eventually the glamour dissipated, and the twenty two year old age difference was no longer avoidable. Harrison can still be found without a girlfriend and at your local Marina bar at least six days a week.
The third instance with the older man affair was undoubtedly my most scandalous. I’ll keep the association between Clint and I confidential to maintain some necessary privacy, but the vital background to take note of was the fact that our relationship had always been plutonic and never inappropriate. Of course, there was an underlying attraction, but the silver fox was married, and even I hadn’t entertained the idea of a true affair no matter how dapper the gent. Clint’s marriage wasn’t exactly a happy one, and his recent series of career advances and purchase of various toys from beamers to snowmobiles only seemed to push he and his marriage further from success. One night, after a Michelin rated dinner, five too many martinis, and an out of the ordinary opportunity to attend an adult revue show, the booze and stripping left us aroused and irresponsible. Clint sought to continue our relationship, and while I wish I could take the moral highroad and deny that I was flattered, I didn’t like what I saw when I looked in the mirror this time around.
All of these forty plus suitors had three things in common- nice toys, good lucks, and a whole lot of mid life crisis. In their eyes, I was the younger twenty something escape- a radical and unexpected boost to their egos. For me, they were sheer flattery and a glimpse into glamour and success without the responsibility of a genuine relationship. After my last sobering experience, I decided the Anna Nicole-Holly Madison lifestyle isn’t quite for me. Not to say I wouldn’t go on a date with Clooney… but least I’d have an idea of where it was headed.
You may wonder… on the contrary…. could I go and dabble in someone younger? Stay tuned.